Forgotten Hearts of the Void

Posted on 2025, Sun Jun 1st, @ 8:26pm by Commodore Emily Janeway

2,852 words; about a 14 minute read

Mission: E1 "Shadows of the Empire"
Location: Medical Bay, Star Fleet command
Timeline: Moments After Late Transport Transfer to Strategic Command Medical Bay Following Bridge Voyager Collapse in the Rekag-Seroina Sector
Tags: Solo post Commodore Emily Janeway’s final hours

The USS Voyager, now decommissioned, lingers only in memory, its final mission a fading echo as the fleet scatters across the Rekag-Seroina Sector. The bridge once buzzed with purpose, crew members monitoring their stations with precision. Kane sat at the helm, his eyes scanning the readouts. “Commodore, we have successfully reached our destination,” he reported, his tone steady. At Tactical, La’an leaned forward, her voice carrying weight. “Commodore, may I have permission to initiate a full scan of the surrounding area? I’d like to coordinate with Commander Situs to ensure we gather all necessary intelligence for this uncharted sector.” My gaze assessed the request. “Granted. Run the full suite—tactical, sensor, subspace. If there’s a threat, I want it found before it finds us. Work with Situs to cover every angle. I also want to ensure we all understand that this rescue requires coordination with Fleet Command HQ.” I settled into my command chair as Kane’s voice broke the quiet tension—now a ghost of a sound, lost with Voyager A’s decommissioning.

The USS Reliant, a nimble cruiser, held station with precision. The USS Hayes, an Excelsior Mk II, drifted with understated elegance, while the USS Texas, a Sovereign-class battlecruiser, stood poised with lethal readiness, her hull marked by conflict. The USS Halo, flagship of the fleet, radiated authority, her advanced systems a beacon of Starfleet’s might, now the new home of my entire crew—Kane, Situs, Yadira, all of them—reassigned without me under Admiral Townstend’s command. The USS Janeway, an experimental Theurgy-class ship, lingered enigmatically, her advanced medical systems a quiet mystery. Kane’s voice shifted as he added, “Ma’am, we are being hailed by the Halo. It’s Admiral Townstend.” I rasped, “Patch him through,” leaning forward as the viewscreen crackled—then a scream tore from me, a feral howl as an insidious poison surged through my veins.

The pain dragged me back—a memory of that moment on the Voyager bridge, where the bio-weapon clawed into my mind, ripping me from the crew I loved like family before her decommissioning. The poison’s venom seared my nerves in molten torment, my vision exploding in blinding delirium, retinas charred as if kissed by hellfire. Crystalline tendrils—indigo and violet—erupted from my chest, their jagged tips pulsing with rancid bioluminescence, lashing with satanic fury as amber ichor dripped, scalding the deck, a grotesque spectacle that could unnerve even the highest ranks. My muscles convulsed in bone-shattering spasms, my cybernetic heart—designed to endure—sputtering with erratic rhythms, its power slipping as it failed to counter the bio-weapon’s assault, now consuming my entire body—every limb, organ, and nerve aflame with decay, spraying splintered bone as blood gushed in torrents, drenching my uniform. My mind became a howling void, demonic voices roaring my annihilation. “Janeway!” Kane shouted, springing to my side, his boots echoing as he knelt—yet now, he was gone, reassigned to the USS Halo with the rest of my crew, leaving me to die alone. “You’re not fit for command, Commodore,” he’d barked, his voice cold with authority, turning to Yadira. “You’re in command now.” Before she could respond, alarms wailed, and an explosion tore through the bridge, the deck buckling, swallowing me into a chasm. A console shard ripped my shoulder, blood erupting, ribs splintering against a bulkhead with a wet crunch, wounds now spreading as the bio-weapon ravaged every inch of my form with horrific ferocity. The chaos delayed my transport, stranding me at Fleet Command HQ as Chief Advisor, while Fleet Command’s orders sent Kane, Situs, Yadira, and every last member of Voyager A’s crew to the USS Halo under Admiral Townstend, abandoning me to my fate with no medical officers to intervene.

The late transport left me in the medical facility at Fleet Command HQ, my new prison as Chief Advisor, completely isolated from the decommissioned Voyager A and its crew—Kane, Situs, Yadira, all of them now on the Halo—making me more vulnerable as the bio-weapon consumed my entire body unchecked, with no medical officers to even attempt to save me. Their absence—Kane’s steady hand, Situs’ sharp mind, Yadira’s quiet strength—left me exposed, my Voyager kin, their faces now haunting me in twisted reflections of Kane’s courage, Situs’ intellect, Yadira’s loyalty, stolen by the Halo. Their loss carved a wound deeper than the bio-weapon’s claws, proof of how much I cared, and with every pulse of ichor, I was dying, my body a horrific ruin of molten flesh and splintered bone, my heart and soul collapsing without them. The abandonment let the ichor spread faster, my body a nightmarish ruin—flesh melting into a molten slurry across my arms, legs, and torso, every organ convulsing with violent spasms, neural pathways collapsing in a cacophony of pain that seared from head to toe—its severity a mystery, a living testament to the bio-weapon’s terror that could strike fear into the Commander-in-Chief’s heart, my cybernetic heart slipping further with each beat as I lay dying alone. My paranoia twisted every sound—the hum of biobeds into a growl, the air thick with phantom burnt flesh, a cruel reminder of the family I’d lost. Hallucinations clawed at me, my Voyager kin—Tara, her face mirroring Kane’s steady resolve; Vorn, wearing Situs’ analytical calm; Ellis, echoing Yadira’s fierce loyalty—screamed, You’re alone, Emily, they all left for the Halo—Kane, Situs, everyone. No doctors, no hope, your condition’s your punishment, their voices driving the ichor deeper, searing my veins across my entire body with every memory of their love, a horror that might echo to the Commander-in-Chief’s heart. Then, a new specter emerged—Commander Situs, his analytical calm a stark contrast to my chaos, his voice echoing from a memory in the science lab: “Commodore, the nebula’s deviation could be a quantum pathogen—we need to isolate it.” But he was gone—reassigned to the USS Halo with the others under Admiral Townstend, leaving me defenseless as the poison surged through every cell, with no medical officer to stem the tide. In my fractured mind, trapped in a limbo where life and death blurred, I was dying, each breath a tortured gasp against the bio-weapon’s relentless assault. My body, a horrific tapestry of molten flesh, crystalline tendrils piercing my chest, and organs dissolving in ichor, teetered on annihilation. I clawed for my commbadge, its spark faint, rasping, “I’m still alive. I will find you, my crew,” their faces—Tara as Kane’s steady resolve, Vorn as Situs’ piercing calm, Ellis as Yadira’s fierce loyalty—swam in my delirium, my kin reshaped by the bio-weapon’s cruelty to resemble those I loved, now lost to the Halo under Admiral Townstend. My eyes, once blind, now burned with amethyst slits, predator-like, searing with otherworldly agony, anchoring me to this purgatory as my care for them fueled my desperate plea through the static, my cybernetic heart faltering, its slipping rhythm a final knell, my need to reach them the only thread defying death’s grasp. Their absence left me exposed, the ichor pulsing faster as my entire body writhed in agony, the extent of my injuries now total and devastating, accelerating my neural collapse under the weight of their abandonment and this command. The bio-weapon’s paranoia surged—unseen Cardassian operatives plotting my demise, their influence hinting at a threat that might reach even the highest office, exploiting my vulnerability to make me doubt if this posting was a trap to finish me off as I lay alone with no aid. The power grid flickered, sparks crackling, plunging the facility into darkness—was this an attack, a sign my condition would kill me without my crew, now all on the Halo under Admiral Townstend, and without medical help, a fear that could ripple to the Commander-in-Chief as my heart slipped? Emergency generators buzzed, distorting into a menacing drone, dissociating me as I watched my body fail, the abandonment and my new duty amplifying the bio-weapon’s assault across every inch of me. I couldn’t see, but sounds clawed at my sanity: a “Code Critical” alert warping into a shriek, with no medics to respond—were there enemies preying on my weakened state as Chief Advisor, a vulnerability that might alarm high command as I lay defenseless? My uniform hung in tatters, my skin searing from head to toe, sparks from failing systems mocking my failure, my condition deteriorating with every moment as their absence on the Halo and my new duty drove the bio-weapon deeper across my entire body, my cybernetic heart slipping with each beat as I lay vulnerable. The shard pulsed in my shoulder, ichor burning my side, my legs, my arms—the late transfer’s toll, worsened by losing my family to the Halo and the absence of any medical officer, and the burden of advising the Commander-in-Chief, a burden now tinged with fear for their own safety as I faded alone. The bio-weapon thrived on my isolation, every organ convulsing violently, the cot’s sterile surface feeling like a predator’s jaws as my condition spiraled, their absence a relentless ghost in my mind, a terror that might shake the Commander-in-Chief’s confidence. An unseen presence whispered, They all left you, Emily—Kane, Situs, Yadira, everyone—for the Halo, with no doctors to save you. You’re not safe here, and your condition’s the price, a warning to those above, its voice my own, stealing my identity as the abandonment and my duty ravaged my entire body and soul.

My cybernetic heart convulsed—crunch… screech… splat—a rusted trap, its power slipping with each erratic beat, a spear through my chest as ichor burned my veins from head to toe, paranoia whispering my isolation at Fleet Command HQ doomed me, their reassignment to the Halo under Admiral Townstend and my Chief Advisor role accelerating its failure, their memory fueling the bio-weapon’s assault across my entire body with no medical intervention, a spectacle that could strike fear into the Commander-in-Chief’s heart. A venomous hum, colder than the Dead Poisonflowers of ’78, triggered a flashback to the Intrepid—operatives’ accusing screams as the hum began, now intensified by my crew’s absence with Voyager A decommissioned, their departure to the Halo, and my new duty with no doctors to help, collapsing my neural defenses as my heart faltered, a threat that might unsettle high command. In 2378, their peace offering turned to hell, searing my nerves, a precursor to this heart, now shattered by the delay and isolation, its slipping a sign of Starfleet’s limits as I faded without aid. My body was a desecrated altar: flesh molten across every limb, bones splintering from my spine to my fingertips, tendrils thrashing with renewed vigor over my entire form, ichor oozing in torrents—safety dissolving as the abandonment, their transfer to the Halo, and my role fueled the bio-weapon’s physical rampage with no one to stop it, a horrifying display that could echo to the Commander-in-Chief’s office. My arms flaked to ash, legs crumbled, face dripped wax, eyes blind but feeling tears as my past self mocked me, a commander whose condition consumed her entire body without her crew or doctors, their absence—Kane’s courage, Situs’ intellect, Yadira’s loyalty—a gaping wound, her duty a shackle that might terrify those who witness her heart’s failure as I lay dying. The bio-weapon’s voice snarled, You’re not safe, Emily, too late to save, your whole body’s breaking for abandoning them—with Voyager A gone—for taking this command, a fear for the Commander-in-Chief to bear, blood and ichor staining the cot. Hallucinations clawed—operatives’ growls, phantom claws raking my entire frame, pain a sign of lingering danger, their transfer to the Halo under Admiral Townstend and my role driving the ichor deeper into every cell with no medical help, my kin’s faces—Kane, Situs, Yadira—haunting me as proof of my care, a sight to haunt high command.

The bridge’s chaos replayed: Kane’s shout, the explosion, my fall—their faces, my kin, blurred into the void as Kane, Situs, Yadira, their reassignment to the Halo under Admiral Townstend a wound that tore out my heart, proof of how deeply I cared, leaving me to wonder if my condition would kill me without them, my new role a betrayal that could alarm the Commander-in-Chief as my heart slipped, their absence a void as I lay dying with Voyager A gone and no doctors near. A chime—my commbadge sparked. “USS Halo to Commodore Janeway, this is Admiral Townstend. Respond!” I slurred, “Hush-a-bye… pumpkins rot… Cardassia’s worms…” then a guttural rasp, “I’m still alive. I will find you, my crew…” Silence followed, the presence growling Kane… Situs… Yadira—you left them, with Voyager A gone, and your condition’s your doom, a terror for your commander, his voice joining the chorus, “You let me go,” terror mounting—had the late transfer and my duty sealed my fate, and theirs?

The monitor’s glyphs pulsed, born in a Badlands lab, the bio-weapon’s toxin worsening with the delay and my isolation, their transfer to the Halo under Admiral Townstend and my Chief Advisor role triggering a cascade of failure across my entire body with no medical aid, a mystery that might strike fear into the Commander-in-Chief’s strategic mind as my heart failed, my crew lost with Voyager A. A flashback to January 2385—tea to venom, the operative’s snarl, “Trust no one, or you’ll bleed”—doubt gnawed, my crew’s absence, their departure to the Halo, and my duty accelerating the neural collapse with no doctors to intervene, a threat that could destabilize high command. Two days ago, I bared my decay to Grace, confessing Cardassia’s betrayal, begging for logs, blood erupting—Midnight’s rider fell, a gunshot echo, my condition deteriorating as I lost my family with Voyager A decommissioned, their absence, and my new command, dying without Kane or any medical help.

Now, the facility consumed me. Shadows writhed—You’re alone, Kane, Situs, Yadira on the Halo under Admiral Townstend, no doctors here, your whole body’s failing, their faces, my kin, a haunting undercurrent, a fear that might reach the Commander-in-Chief as my heart slipped. Kathryn’s voice shrieked, You betrayed my legacy, the operative’s hand clawed, Bleed eternal. I rasped the lullaby, a dirge for the crew whose loss with Voyager A’s decommissioning, their transfer to the Halo, and my duty worsened my condition, the medal a cold lie in their absence, a symbol that could unnerve those in power as I lay dying. The facility stilled, the hum a predator’s heartbeat—am I safe, or dying without them, a question that might haunt the Commander-in-Chief? Bones crunched across my frame, the shadow promised my end as my condition spiraled, their absence on the Halo and my role a relentless specter, a terror for high command as my heart faltered, their absence a silent wound. My breath died, a tear ripping my soul—something birthed by Cardassians thrived on my isolation, a threat that could strike fear into the heart of the fleet’s leadership.

Then, nothing. My heart stopped, a crack like a gunshot, its cybernetic core slipping into silence, yet I lingered in limbo, neither alive nor dead, dying with every shudder of my horrific, ruined body—flesh liquefied, bones shattered, tendrils writhing like serpents through my chest. My eyes—blind with decay or glowing amethyst, slit like a predator’s—burned with the bio-weapon’s curse, their alien glare a testament to my torment, trapping me in this eternal void. The cot became my purgatory, ghosts of my Voyager kin—Kane’s resolve, Situs’ calm, Yadira’s loyalty—whispering my name, their voices haunting as I rasped, “I’m still alive. I will find you, my crew,” a vow to the family lost to the Halo under Admiral Townstend, a fear to grip the Commander-in-Chief as I perished without aid. A snap jolted me, ichor splattering with renewed force, my eyes searing with alien light. Shadows taunted, You’re not safe, too late, your body’s broken, their faces lingering, a warning that might unsettle the highest office. Something alien churned under my skin, a voice snarling, “Too quiet…” I tried to rise, my bones crushing with a sickening, grinding noise, each fractured shard splintering further under the weight of my dying body, the operative hissing, You’re ours, forever. The lullaby wailed, sealing my fate—safe or not, my condition worsened beyond saving, separated from the crew I loved with Voyager A decommissioned, their transfer to the Halo under Admiral Townstend a hidden wound, my Chief Advisor role a bitter crown that could strike fear into the Commander-in-Chief’s heart as my heart slipped away.
To be Continued

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